


Explaining Tikka to the Vanilla Bean

by gardnerhill



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BDSM, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-10
Updated: 2012-11-10
Packaged: 2017-11-18 08:34:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/558963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gardnerhill/pseuds/gardnerhill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Puritans also used to put people in the stocks for having <i>spices</i> in their kitchen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Explaining Tikka to the Vanilla Bean

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Valeria2067](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valeria2067/gifts).



> A birthday present.

Outsiders – the bland, the vanilla, the conventionally sexual – wouldn't understand. 

They'd see the cuffs immobilizing wrists and ankles, a naked body strapped to a bed, a voice whining around a ball gag, a reddened arse recoiling at yet another bite from the crop. _Victim_ , they'd think in righteous outrage. 

They'd look at the wielder of the crop – intent stern look on his face, bare-chested save for his Army tags, khaki trousers, boots – and the way he uses any infraction as excuse to bring the crop down again ("Did I tell you you could whine, bitch?"). _Abuser_ , they'd snarl. 

But worse, so much worse, if they actually intruded and tried to halt the proceedings – uncuffed the one, seized the other – only to receive an earful of multisyllabic vitriol and fury by a smouldering tower of naked anger who's just yanked out the ball-gag to release a fearsome weapon. His glare would not be hampered by his nakedness, the swinging red cock before and the swollen red arse behind. The long and the short of his diatribe would be: _Get your fucking hands off him._ Release the abusive Army man – angry and (oddly) blushing, and whose erection still tents his khakis – who grumbles about two consenting adults and being left fucking well alone, thank you. 

The full horror would hit the bland, the vanilla, the conventionally sexual (homo- and otherwise): _Perverts_ , their minds would whisper. How fucked-up is the tall angry man who likes being bound, abused and hurt? How sick is the Army man who likes hurting people?

Good thing those bland, vanilla, and conventionally sexual people don't actually know about this and therefore haven't done anything. If such folk did perchance happen upon that scene and tried to intervene they would rapidly find themselves cuffed to a chair and the unwilling recipients of a brief, furious lecture on human sexuality and the psychology of BDSM (complete with sweeping gestures), while the Army man disappeared briefly and reappeared with a mug of tea. 

"Smaller syllables, since that seems to be all you can comprehend," the tall naked angry gorgeous man would conclude, leaning down so that his unsettling cat's eyes fix unerringly on his squirming pupil. "After a lifetime of restless running at top speed, my mind is stilled by the need to obey another's every whim. Years of solitude because of my natural superiority to most people are forgotten when another cows my body. The same sharp pleasure I take from a mouthful of tikka I receive from a beaten backside – do you elbow your way through Tesco's and snatch bottles of chilli sauce from shoppers as well? My body is restricted, and my heart is freed. A man who understands me better than I do myself holds me helpless, and gives me only and exactly what I need. I am bound, and I fly."

But worst of all would be if that cuffed bland vanilla rescuer makes the mistake of looking over at that abusive Army man, the one slouching against a cabinet and engrossed in his tea. The one whose eyes never leave that naked man he'd just been beating. 

For the love shining in those eyes is more naked than their bodies, and the righteous would avert their gaze in shame at last.


End file.
